Jacking Off
by CrystallicSky
Summary: Everybody has their own way of doing it. CHACK, ONESHOT


**Jacking Off  
**

**By: CrystallicSky**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters, nor do I make any profit or attempt to with the writing of this or any of my other pieces.**

Warnings: Language, sexual implication/situations, masturbation, homosexuality, etc.

**--**

Jack Spicer was the type of guy who put a lot of effort into masturbation.

Now, that isn't to say he made it his life's work to masturbate, or did it excessively often; no, nothing like that. It was simply that, considering his lifestyle, he had to be…particular about the manner in which he went about it.

To begin, he had a series of qualifiers that had to be passed before he would even decide to engage in the sexual act.

1) The mansion must be empty.

It was a rare occasion for his parents to be home, but it was not so rare an occasion for their business associates to drop by.

Sometimes, it was people wishing to discuss professional dealings in lieu of flying halfway around the world to discuss it with Mr. and Mrs. Spicer themselves (wherever the hell _they_ happened to be at the time), and instead wishing to deal with Jack, who was just as qualified as his parents to handle such matters; sometimes, it was galas that'd been set up by Martin and Sylvia at which _Jack_ had to entertain the guests because husband and wife were just too busy to attend their own party; sometimes, it was even old family friends just stopping in for an unexpected visit!

In any case, the young goth point-blank refused to engage in self-pleasure with another human being in the mansion. His robots, he felt, didn't count because they obeyed his every order and would not barge in on him while he was 'doing the deed,' so to speak.

Neither would they judge him for being a lonely, partnerless, teenage boy whose _only_ source of pleasure was his hand, but that was beside the point.

2) Masturbation is only done in the bathroom.

Now, this may have seemed like an odd qualifier after the first one: why would it matter what room he masturbated in if there was no one else in the whole house? Why should he limit himself to just _one_ space? He could easily stroke himself in the comfort of his lavish bedroom, the coziness of the den, or even the kinky-feeling kitchen, should the mood strike him!

Jack, however, was just a tinge overcautious. He constantly had thoughts of being walked in on, even _despite_ the fact that he had beforehand checked that there was no one in the house. After all, nearly every one of the people he dealt with in terms of Heylin had some way in which to appear anywhere they wished whenever they wished as much, and on the Xiaolin side, _they_ had a tendency of bursting through walls whenever they felt like it.

At least if he was in the bathroom, he would have a legitimate excuse for telling someone to let him finish up, he'd be out in a second.

3) Clothes are not to be taken off.

Some people liked to thoroughly enjoy their personal fantasies; strip naked and fully immerse themselves in the illusion of fucking or being fucked.

Jack was not one of those people.

He would've liked to be: he would've _loved_ to not be so uptight about his self-pleasure and be able to lounge upon his bed, completely nude and successfully bring himself to a calm, pleasurable orgasm.

The genius did not have that luxury. As paranoid of intruders as he was forced to be, he was not allowed to enjoy his own orgasms to the fullest.

No, he was forced to masturbate fully-clothed, standing up in his bathroom just before the toilet, so that in the event someone _did_ surprise him while he was jerking himself off, he could quickly stuff his cock back into his jeans and explain that said jeans were unbuttoned because he'd been urinating.

It felt unendingly pathetic to have to touch himself hurriedly within his own home, worried that someone might barge in at any moment. Occasionally, the albino likened it in his mind to some wretched crackhead in a hovel somewhere, trying to snort the last of his drugs as quick as he could with the police banging on his door.

As it was…this happened to be the only thing he could do.

4) Cleaning supplies were to be on hand.

The pathetic nature of Jack's masturbation continued with this qualifier: he _could not_ leave any evidence whatsoever of the fact that he'd just gotten himself off.

It might seem silly, but again, if someone were to come into the bathroom, they would _know_ if he hadn't cleaned everything up. If it were the monks, they would be able to see it; if it were Wuya, whatever abilities she got from being a ghost would allow her to sense it; and in the event that it was Chase who walked in, his draconic nature would surely allow him to smell it.

Yes, that was _just_ what Jack wanted: his enemies, his ally, or his idol knowing he was a pitiful loser that had to periodically touch himself because he was a disgusting, albino freak that no man or woman would even _consider_ putting their hands on.

So, he would put towels down to minimize the mess and when he was done, he would toss them down the laundry chute and get on his hands and knees to thoroughly scrub away any possible evidence like a murderer wiping up all traces of blood.

Often, he would end up scouring the _entire_ bathroom, just to be safe; leaving the room with a sharp, chemical scent masquerading as 'Lemon Fresh.' Call him paranoid and O.C.D. until you're blue in the face, but you'd likely _never_ be able to find a shred of proof that he'd just masturbated.

And finally, 5) The shower must be prepped and ready to go.

After getting himself off and then scrubbing the hell out of everything that _could_ conceivably be scrubbed, Jack was well aware of what he smelled of: sweat, industrial-strength cleaners, semen, and overwhelmingly, _shame._

If he were to be caught in such a state…well, needless to say, it would be bad.

And, so it went that the moment he finished his borderline-neurotic cleaning of the bathroom, he would send his clothing down after the towels and hop into a scalding hot shower while his bots (knowing, by now, their master's routine) brought up fresh towels and a change of clothes, along with meticulously putting all the cleaning supplies away just where Jack liked them.

The albino may periodically come out of his shower with his white skin turned pink from the heat of the water and even red in some places where he scrubbed at his own body a bit too hard, but he no longer reeked of 'pathetic, lonely teenager.'

Now just happened to be one of those moments when all five qualifiers were met: there was no one in the mansion, Jack was in the bathroom, still fully-dressed, cleaning supplies were present (and with a brand new bottle of bleach), and his bots had informed him that the water for his shower was heating as they'd spoken.

Nerves on edge and hands lightly shaking, the goth slowly reached down and undid the button of his jeans, pulling the zipper down almost immediately afterwards.

It was next to impossible to get hard as nervous as Jack tended to be, but he was experienced with such matters and had done it many times before, _despite_ the familiar tenseness he was feeling. He was hard now, and curled his hand firmly around his cock, using the precise amount of pressure that he knew would bring him the greatest pleasure possible.

The albino took a deep breath, gave one instinctive glance to the locked bathroom door, and began stroking himself with one lubricant-slick hand.

There was pleasure, of course: it felt _good_ to have a hand around his dick, even if it was only his own. _His_ hand was the only thing he'd ever known, and so while he often fantasized of how much better it would be if it was another person, or at the very least, another person's _hand,_ he had nothing to compare it with.

Instinctively, he wanted to moan or groan, make _some_ noise at the feeling, but he forced his mouth shut. He wouldn't be going through all the trouble of his precautions only to possibly give himself away by making noise.

It was truly sad: a nineteen-year-old masturbating in his own, empty house and biting his lip near-hard enough to break the skin so as to prevent himself from making any sounds other than the occasional, near-silent grunt.

He wasn't even indulging in any fantasies as his fist gripped his erection and quickly stroked from base to tip and base, again. He couldn't! If he thought too deeply into what he was doing, it would devolve into _good_ masturbation, the type of getting oneself off in a manner that was enjoyable: sprawled carelessly upon the ground, moaning, and playing deepest, darkest fantasies out in one's mind.

That, he could not let happen.

Jack forced his thoughts to be cold and mechanical as he touched himself. He thought not of sex, not of another person, not even what little pleasure he got out of this act; he thought logically of the feeling of his body, putting his mind to work at the straightforward task of figuring out just how much longer it would take him to reach orgasm.

Not much longer, thankfully: the genius knew by now what pressure and tempo of hand his body enjoyed, and used that knowledge to his benefit; to get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Jack's breaths began to come shorter and quicker as he neared his peak, his body feeling hot and his hips unintentionally jerking into each stroke of palm and fingers.

_Almost over, almost over, almost over,_ he chanted internally, making it his desperate mantra in that final sprint towards orgasm.

As his hand instinctively quickened upon his cock, his face flushing pink from the arousal he was forcing on himself, his self-control slipped.

A fantasy shoved its way into his head.

For a brief-brief moment, he saw himself pressed up against a wall, his idol's handsome face mere centimeters from his own as the man kissed the living daylights out of him; the dragonlord's hand busying itself in the goth's pants.

With little more than a grunt to signify it, Jack came; his semen splattering in and upon the toilet where he hadn't put down enough towels.

If it was sad before, it only grew sadder now that the act was over.

Here he was, a young man on the verge of adulthood locked in his bathroom and leaning heavily against the wall so as to catch his breath while his now-soft cock hung out of his jeans; the toilet covered in a combination of towels and come as the tiny, barely-audible whisper of, "Chase," crossed the teen's lips.

Breathing just a pinch heavier than normal, Jack replaced his dick within his underwear, zipping and buttoning his jeans once more. He gathered the towels and threw them down the laundry chute before walking a few steps to the sink in order to methodically wash his hands with hot water and soap. This done, he reached into the cabinet beneath the sink and removed a sponge and one of his favorite cleansers: a particularly _thorough,_ heavy-duty one.

On his hands and knees mere moments later, the goth began the meticulous process of scouring the toilet and the surrounding floor, the immense and weighty feeling of _shame_ beginning to crash down on him.

He knew already that this would be one of those days he would be cleaning the entire bathroom.

Jack was unaware that, despite all of his precautions, he was graced with an audience.

Chase Young watched the youth with a deep frown as he went about wiping up every last thing obsessively with a look of utter embarrassment and misery. The man's hand was still leisurely curled around his cock, his thighs stained with his own essence; he would clean himself up soon enough.

For now, he continued to watch Jack as he engaged in his ritual of destroying all possible evidence.

Why did the boy do this to himself? he wondered. As a fellow man, Chase knew the act of masturbation itself was merely a release, something that _had_ to be done every once in awhile (if one was without a lover) so as to avoid total madness and the occurrence of a killing spree.

Jack treated it as a chore, however, something that was meant to be gotten over with as quickly as possible and not enjoyed in the least.

It was obvious from the youth's stiff posture and the grimace he wore upon his face when stroking himself to orgasm that he wasn't enjoying the act any more than he absolutely _had_ to, which for Chase brought up the issue of _why?_

There was no need for Jack to force himself through this in such a way; to be so miserable and ashamed of what he'd done.

The everlord himself masturbated every so often, as he'd just done now. He _enjoyed_ it; he fantasized to his heart's desire and allowed himself to feel as much pleasure as he wanted, and when he came, it was akin to a spectacular, beautiful finale of a fireworks show as opposed to the bland, perfunctory goal Spicer made his orgasm into.

Having recently developed an interest in the boy as he'd finally begun to grow up (both mentally and physically), Chase had made a habit of doing this: watching Jack as he masturbated and doing the same within the comfort of his own home until he was ready to make his move on the genius.

It was arousing to see the lovely albino touching himself, of course, but…Chase supposed he had expected…_more._

Not 'more' in terms of size, no: the youth's cock was of a good length and girth, already, and to add any more was entirely unnecessary.

He had expected more in terms of…well, _flair._

Here, the overlord had been hoping to see Jack, his slender, white body sprawled upon the black, silken sheets of his bed, his head tossed back as he stroked his cock with lush abandon. Oh, yes, his eyes would be just a bit open, the red irises cloudy with lust, his hair would be limp and plastered to his face by sweat, his cheeks would be flushed, and as he finally reached that long-awaited peak, his lips would quirk upwards in pleasure, his idol's name _screamed_ in utter ecstasy.

Instead, what he got was a nervous teenager getting himself off as quickly and secretively as possible; as if masturbation had been declared illegal, and then a quiet, ashamed whisper of the man's name once he'd finished.

It was just a pinch disappointing.

Chase watched through the Eye-Spy Orb just a bit longer, taking in the split-second view he was able to get of Jack's naked form as he stripped and hopped into the shower before dismissing his useful possession back into the floor.

He did not want to see Spicer scalding and scrubbing at himself as if he'd just gotten out of a vat of nuclear waste and was attempting to wash it all off.

Instead, he stood from his throne and headed for his own shower, intent on cleaning the semen from his body before it dried and became uncomfortably itchy.

He refused to be disappointed much longer. The next time Spicer decided to force himself through this depressing ritual, he would interfere; perhaps just as the goth was beginning to tensely fondle himself.

Yes, Chase would show Jack the _proper_ way to masturbate so as to entertain both himself and the dragonlord, and _then…_

Then, perhaps he would show the boy the proper way to _fuck…_

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**A/N: ...Yes, the title _was_ intentional, thank you very much. XD**

Anyways, thanks for reading; hope you liked it! :D


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